


Won't Fear Love

by dsa_archivist



Category: due South
Genre: M/M, Romance, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-02-19
Updated: 1999-02-19
Packaged: 2018-11-10 14:51:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11129067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsa_archivist/pseuds/dsa_archivist
Summary: Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived atDue South Archive. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address onDue South Archive collection profile.





	Won't Fear Love

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).

Won't Fear Love

 

Disclaimer: These characters aren't mine, of course. I'm just borrowing  
them for this story!  
  
  
Minor spoilers for Third Season episodes: Call of the Wild, Mountie on  
the Bounty, Mojo Rising and Likely Story  
  
  
 **Rated NC-17 for m/m, Fraser/Kowalski slash**  


  


A small note: in current police slang, the word 'bus' means  
an ambulance. Dear Abby, for those readers outside the U.S., is a reference  
to a national newspaper advice columnist who answers reader's letters.  
And the lyrics quoted in this story are from Bruce Springsteen's song,  
"Cover Me"

© September 1998

 

Email the author at:  
***********************************************************************************  
Won't Fear Love

 

by Caroline Alert

 

 

"Write it down in a _letter?_ To who?"

"That doesn't matter, detective. It could be to your partner, or  
even to yourself."

I blink. Stare at the police psychiatrist. Can't believe what I'm hearing.  
"Yer kiddin' me, right?"

He shakes his head. "No. I think writing your feelings down in  
a letter would be a very helpful exercise for you, Officer Kowalski."  
He's trying to look serious. Wise. Like he's Dr. Supershrink, with  
a capital S. He just looks pompous to me. "It will help you determine  
exactly what the nature of your problem with your partner, Constable  
Fraser, is."

I blink at him again. Shake my head. Not smiling anymore. I'm starting  
to get ticked off. _I bare my soul to this guy, tell him stuff I've  
never told my own mom, and this is the best he can do? Tell me to write  
myself a letter? To tell myself what I already know? He's an idiot!  
A jackass in an expensive suit with a Ph.D.  
_  
"The department pays you to give advice like this?"

He stiffens a bit. Disturbed by my lack of respect. "It's a standard  
therapeutic technique, I assure you�"

 _Therapy, shmerapy! What a dipshit._ I get up, disgusted. _Didn't  
wanna come here anyway. Shoulda' known better, but I was desperate.  
Couldn't figure out what to do�But I can already see this chump  
doesn't have a clue, either. Write a letter to myself, my ass!_  
"Oh yeah?" I snarl. "Well, do I look like Dear Abby to  
you?"

He smiles. A superior little smirk that makes me wanna pull his little  
silk tie so tight it'll choke him. "Not in the slightest, Detective.  
But I think�"

I shake my head, way past caring what he thinks. "End of session,"  
I tell him, pissed. "Send me yer bill, Doc. 'Cuz I'm outta here!"

I start to turn away. He gets up hastily, holds out a hand like he wants  
to stop me. "Please, Detective. I really think we ought to discuss  
this�"

_Now he's trying to look authoritative. Musta' decided serious wasn't  
cuttin' it. Must not realize I've always responded badly to every authority  
figure in my life�  
_   
_Except one._

I bare my teeth at Supershrink. "I think we just did. Now we're  
done."

Then I bomb out of his office. Pissed off at him and even madder at  
myself, for thinking such a stuffed shirt maroon could help me. "Write  
a letter", he says. "To identify the problem", he says.

_Oh, that's good, doc! That's brilliant. Except I didn't come to  
your office to find out what my problem with Fraser is. I already know  
that: problem is, I want him. Want him bad. Can't even look at him  
without my damn mouth waterin', and parts way south goin' stiff. I don't  
get it. I haven't wanted a guy in years, not since a bit of dabbling  
in high school that I'd mostly forgotten. But the damn Mountie's done  
somethin' to me. Witched me with those big baby blues, or maybe hypnotized  
me with all those big words he likes so much. Hell, for all I know,  
he used some friggin' Inuit ritual hocus pocus chant thing to mess with  
my head!  
_   
_The one thing I know for sure is, I wanna jump Benton Fraser's bones.  
I don't need to write a fuckin' letter to figure that out! That much,  
I got already. Can't miss the way my dick stiffens up every time he  
touches me. What I was hoping Supershrink could tell me is, how to stop  
feeling that way. How to turn off this stupid, hopeless lech._

_Maybe I shoulda' known better. It's not that easy to turn off feelings,  
or hormones, or whatever the hell this is. If it was, I sure as hell  
woulda' turned mine off when Stella left. But I couldn't shut 'em down  
when she walked, and I can't turn 'em off when Fraser's around, either._

_He's completely clueless about it, though. As usual.  
_  
 _Half of me's glad he is. The other half, the southern part, wishes  
he'd wake the hell up and pay attention to it�  
_  
 _But I know he never will. Not just because he's clueless, but because  
he's so damn straight. Uptight. Polite. Moral. He hardly even looks  
at all the women who slaver all over him all the time! Even Frannie,  
who's a total babe, and who's driven herself half crazy chasin' him for  
years. According to Vecchio, he's only been in love once in his life�and  
that was with some crazy bitch who tried to ruin his career and/or kill  
him, whichever came first.  
_  
I shake my head, just thinking about that. _Chicago's full of women  
who'd do anything for one night in the sack with the Mountie, and who  
does he pick to fixate on? Some Canadian chick who's nuts, and out to  
get him. Only Fraser could be that dumb._

_Then again, how smart am I? I fell for him, didn't I?  
_   
_For a guy who probably isn't real eager to try the L word again, since  
his first time flamed out so bad. And I can only imagine what he'd do  
if he knew his own partner, another guy, wanted to get it on with him.  
He'd probably blush as red as his uniform--then his head would explode.  
_   
_But I want him so bad that sometimes I wish I could risk telling him.  
Hell, I might even settle for the S word with him, if I could get it._

_If.  
_  
I seethe about it all the way back to my car. All the way back to the  
station too. About the shrink's stupidity, Fraser's, and my own. _Don't  
know which of us is worse: me for havin' such an idiotic crush, Fraser  
for bein' too blind to see it, or the shrink for bein' clueless about  
how to help me get rid of it._ Just thinking about it, I grip the  
wheel of the GTO so tight while I drive that my hands start to hurt.  
I wonder if it's possible to embed your fingerprints into the wheel,  
if you hold it tight enough.  
But I don't really want to embed them  
in the wheel. __

 _I wanna put 'em on Fraser's skin. Put my hands all over that beautiful,  
snow white skin, kiss him and bite him and lick him until he howls like  
Dief on a date.  
_  
When I get back to the 27th, I put my aching head down on the wheel.  
 _'Cuz I know it ain't gonna happen. Dream on, Kowalski.  
_  
I'll never know how long I sat there. But I didn't move until someone  
knocked on the window. Several mild taps, polite, just loud enough to  
get my attention.

 _I shoulda' known who it was, just from that.  
_  
But I was so busy feeling sorry for myself that I was clueless until  
I caught the flash of red. Bright red. Mountie red, right beside me.  
Then I froze. But it was too late to pretend I hadn't seen him. So  
I lifted my head reluctantly. Saw dark hair, cut short but thick, glossy  
and black. Shiny as the finish on my GTO. Beautiful. A pair of clear  
blue eyes with lashes so long any chick would kill for them, full lips  
just crying to be kissed, a strong, square jaw, and shoulders so broad  
they filled the whole window frame.

 _Fraser. Of course. Who else would it be?  
_  
I roll down the window, feeling doomed.

Fraser smiles. "Hi, Ray!"

I groan inwardly.

"I just came by to see if you'd like to go to lunch with me,"  
he says casually.

_I stare at him. Why does he have to be so friggin' handsome? So  
polite? So perfect? Why?_

_God hates me. That's what it is.  
_  
"Ray?" Fraser leans towards me a little, a bit of a frown  
creasing his perfect brow. I'm so disgusted with myself that it must  
be showing. He must've seen it. And it worries him. Panicked, I make  
my whole face blank, because I'm afraid he's gonna lean in and put a  
hand on my shoulder, ask me what the hell's the matter. He's like that.  
Kind. Sensitive. Caring, underneath that formal politeness he tries  
to hold everyone at arm's length with.

Every woman's dream, that's Fraser.

But he's mine now too. And it's hard enough, without him touchin' me.

"Sure, yeah, Frase. Fine. Whatever," I mumble, trying to  
smile at him so he'll think I'm okay. "Get in. I'll drive."

My fake smile reassures him. He backs away from the window without touching  
me. _Thank God._ The only problem is, he goes around and climbs  
in next to me, sitting so close our thighs are almost brushing. And  
I know I'm gonna have a helluva time trying not to stare at him for the  
next hour or so, while we eat.

"Thanks, Ray," he says, oblivious. "Where would you like  
to go?"

 _Hell, I don't care!_ I want to snarl, hopelessly turned on as  
usual. Then I remember that Hell's a place, and that I'm already in  
it. I shrug instead. "I dunno. What do you feel like?" I  
ask, then wince as my mind dreams up a hot answer to that question.  
 _Hard. Muscular. Warm. Delicious�that's what Fraser would feel  
like.  
_  
 _Jesus._

"How about that little Chinese place?" Fraser says. "The  
one not far from here?"

"Fine," I mutter. I gun the GTO out of the lot, staring hard  
at the road. Not looking at him at all. Hoping he won't notice what's  
poking its head up in my jeans.

But looking at the road doesn't help much. I can feel him anyway. Feel  
the heat of his big body. I can see him too, even though I'm not looking.  
The way he sits, shoulders straight but not tight, the easy, upright  
posture of a natural athlete. Graceful. The way his large fingers rest  
on the brim of the Stetson in his lap. I know it all by heart. I love  
it all. And his face is so familiar that it's burned into my brain.  
I see it every time I close my eyes. Not to mention in my dreams. Big  
blue eyes. Straight nose. Tempting lips. Perfect. Beautiful. Completely  
clueless.

 _Idiot,_ I think, trying to be mad at him. I do that a lot, when  
I can't take a cold shower. Sometimes it helps, sometimes it doesn't.  
Today it's hard to sustain a burn, 'cuz I'm not sure who's the bigger  
idiot, him for not noticing or me for being too scared to tell him.

"What's the matter?" he asks finally, his voice a bit uncertain.  
"Would you rather have something other than Chinese food?"

I swallow hard. Clamp down ruthlessly on my filthy imagination. Won't  
let it dream up an answer to that question. Because there's a limit  
to how much I can take�especially with Him sitting right next to  
me. And I don't ever want him to see what he's doing to me. "No.  
Chinese is fine. I'm just�thinkin' about a case," I grate.  
"That's all."

"Ahh," he says. But out of the corner of my eye, I see him  
looking at me. Curious. Intent.

I don't dare look back. He knows me too well.

Neither one of us says much after that. Not in the car, and not at lunch  
either.

And when I drive him back to work, it gets even worse. If that's possible.  
After nearly an hour of doing my best to pretend I'm enjoying my burger  
while something big, red, and far more delicious sat across from me,  
I'm actually looking forward to driving. Staring at the road will be  
a relief, after that. But I make the mistake of turning on the radio,  
secretly hoping that'll discourage Fraser from trying to talk to me anymore.  
At times, even the sound of his voice is a hopeless turn on for me now�

But the radio doesn't help. The second I switch it on, Springsteen,  
the world class romantic, is moaning, "Promise me, baby, you won't  
let them find us. Hold me in your arms, let's let our love blind us,  
cover me�Shut the door and cover me. Well, I'm looking for a lover  
who will come on in and cover me�"

I get a mental picture, instantaneous and incredibly vivid, of Fraser  
lying on top of me. Covering me with his big body, the gold buttons  
in that bright red uniform pressing into my chest as he kisses me�

 _Shit!_ I reach for the dial and switch the music off hastily.  
Can't stand to listen to Springsteen screaming my private thoughts out  
where the Mountie can hear 'em. _Does the whole friggin' world know  
how I feel?_ I wonder, furious. _Everybody else, that is, except  
him�_

 __Fraser looks at me curiously. "You don't like that song, Ray?"

"No," I lie tersely. "It sucks."

"But that was Bruce Springsteen, if I'm not mistaken. And just  
last week, you were telling me how much you love his music," Fraser  
points out, confused. "You said he was a working class poet�"

I roll my shoulders, intensely uncomfortable with the corner I've just  
worked myself into. _Damn him for rememberin' everything I say! Why  
the hell doesn't he just ignore me, like everyone else? _Of course,  
that's part of the reason why I want him so bad. Because he does listen  
to me, and remember things about me that no one else would. _It's  
not just his body, it's�oh, hell. What's the use? _"Yeah,  
well�That was then, this is now," I say. "Besides, what  
the hell do I know from poetry?"

Ben opens his mouth, then shuts it again abruptly, as if he has no real  
idea what to say to that. He looks completely confused.

 _He's not the only one.  
_  
When I drop him off at the Consulate after, we both try to act like we're  
not relieved to be getting away from each other. But neither of us is  
fooled.

_I wonder how much longer I can stand this. It's gettin' harder and  
harder to lie to him, to hide it. But what would I do if I told him,  
and he left me? Transferred out, like he talked about doing once?_

_Then I'd really be in Hell._

__  
******************************************************************************

 

Later that night, lying on his bedroll in his tiny little office at the  
Canadian Consulate, Fraser ponders the situation. Something is bothering  
his partner, Ray Kowalski. He knows that as surely as he knows his own  
name. He also knows that Ray doesn't want him to know about it, because  
if he did, he would've told him by now. Ray isn't shy, or secretive  
either�except about his deepest longings and fears. Those, he hardly  
ever talked about.

Fraser knew of Stanley Ray Kowalski's pet peeves--well-armed criminals,  
traffic jams, authority figures, the Toronto Maple Leafs--within days  
of their first meeting. He'd learned of his favorite cars, sports teams,  
and foods in another week. But it wasn't until almost a year later that  
he learned of Ray's love for his ex-wife, or of how dancing with her  
transported his normally earthy partner into a state of near Nirvana,  
or of his habit of lying to his parents to protect them. And he suspected  
that he wouldn't have found out that much about him even by then, if  
several of their cases hadn't involved Stella and his parents.

Stanley Ray Kowalski had a tough facade much like his former partner,  
Ray Vecchio, did. But a similarly passionate heart beneath it, if you  
looked hard enough to see it.

Fraser has looked. And maybe because he has similar walls of his own,  
carefully constructed to protect his own heart, he has also seen past  
Ray's barriers on occasion. He knows the depth of feeling of which Kowalski  
is capable, and something of the pain it has caused him. He knows, even  
if no one else at the 27th has guessed, the degree of desperation  
involved in Kowalski's decision to take on another man's name, another  
man's life, in order to leave behind a past that seemed unbearable.  
He has even wondered, at times, if he would've done the same thing, if  
anyone had offered him the chance after Victoria.

But tonight, as the moonlight makes abstract, silvery patterns on the  
floor beside him, his thoughts center on Kowalski rather than himself.  
He wonders what category the shadows in his eyes spring from lately:  
longings or fears? He isn't sure. He's seen what looks like both in  
Ray's eyes at times lately. Most recently, when he'd surprised him slumped  
at the wheel of his car in the station's parking lot. Stan had been  
sitting so still that Fraser hadn't been sure he was even conscious.  
Alarmed, he'd rapped on the window. Ray had lifted his head promptly,  
but there was something in his eyes�Lost, haunted, whatever you  
wanted to call it, it had disturbed him. He hadn't seen Stan that troubled  
since the night he'd confessed that he still loved Stella.

 _What is wrong with him?_ If Fraser didn't know better, he would've  
suspected that he'd fallen in love, and that for whatever reason, his  
love was hopeless. But that couldn't be true, because Ray always talked  
freely about the women he was interested in, and he hadn't so much as  
mentioned anyone to Fraser. Not for months now. Nor was he dating anyone.

_So what can it be?_

Fraser shifts uneasily on his bedroll, wondering about it. He has the  
distinct (and distinctly alarming) feeling that it has something to do  
with him somehow. The look in Stan's eyes when he'd found him slumped  
over the wheel that day had seemed oddly personal. He wonders if he's  
done something wrong. Wracks his brain trying to remember if he had  
said or done anything to upset Stan in the last few months�

He can't remember anything out of the ordinary. _Well, Stan did seem  
a bit bitter that time he found Francesca pressing my hand to her breast  
during their case involving Jerome Lafarette, the voodoo priest, but  
he didn't even ask me to explain it. He just made a joke about Frannie  
being crazy, then let it go.  
_  
 _Still�_ Fraser pursues that line of inquiry, intrigued. _Hmmm�_ He's  
never thought much about it before, but now he realizes that Stan has  
often registered something like disapproval when Frannie has touched  
him, or taken his arm, as she often does. He's always assumed that Stan  
was just acting the role of her big brother, being protective of her,  
but now he wonders if he's misinterpreted his motive. Is there more  
to his partner's sour reactions to her clinging behavior than that?  
Can it be that Stan has feelings for Frannie himself, and that he's jealous  
of Frannie's preference for him?

Fraser blinks. _Oh, dear!_ The more he thinks about it, the more  
likely the possibility seems. It would explain Ray's depression, his  
seemingly jealous looks when Frannie hangs on him, Fraser's own intuition  
that Kowalski's problem somehow involves him, and Ray's unwillingness  
to talk about it. Ray had revealed a surprisingly deep insecurity about  
his own appeal to women during the Tucci case, and been visibly jealous  
about his intentions towards Luanne Russell. _If he's now decided  
he wants Frannie, maybe he's keeping quiet about it because his mistaken  
jealousy over Luanne embarrassed him, and he doesn't want to repeat that  
error, or to appear foolish again.  
_  
Fraser turns the theory over and over in his mind, but can find no glaringly  
obvious flaw in it. It seems a reasonable explanation for his partner's  
unrest and odd behavior lately. So he decides he should test the possibility.  
 _It shouldn't be difficult. All I need do is engage Francesca in some  
harmless conversation while Ray is close by, pretend to flirt with her  
a little, then watch him for signs of jealousy. If he exhibits any,  
I'll just take him aside, tell him that my feelings towards Francesca  
are nothing but brotherly, and then he will feel free to court her without  
interference.  
_  
Satisfied to have found a relatively easy solution to Stan's problem,  
Ben Fraser closes his eyes and finally allows himself to fall asleep.

But the Mountie has forgotten a couple of very important things. One  
is that the best-laid plans often go awry in the real world. The second  
is that Francesca Vecchio can be rather unpredictable�

 

***********************************************************************************

 

Due to unexpected business at the Consulate, two days go by before Fraser  
sees Kowalski again. When he does, he's gratified, as he approaches  
Ray's desk, to find that Frannie is nearby. Never a man to delay when  
action is necessary, he nods at his partner, then makes a beeline for  
Francesca. He knows Ray is watching and is anxious to implement his  
plan.

"Francesca," he says, "I wonder if you'd be so kind as  
to pull the files on the Henry Allen case for me?"

Francesca perks up immediately. "Oh, sure, Frase," she says,  
sidling close to him with a smile. Kowalski is seated with his boots  
up on his desk. Fraser watches him out of the corner of his eye. Sure  
enough, his eyes narrow as he sees Frannie's smile, the way she leans  
towards him. Fraser recalls his partner saying that 'body language is  
something I'm particularly sensitive to', and he has to suppress a smile.  
His partner's body language radar certainly seems to be active at the  
moment. Good.

"Uh, did you want all the files, Frase, or just the ones on Billy  
Bones' murder?" Francesca breathes, plucking at a non-existent piece  
of lint on his sleeve. Deciding to give his theory a good, thorough  
test, Fraser leans closer to her and smiles back at her with more than  
his usual warmth. "That's a good question, Francesca," he  
says approvingly.

Francesca practically purrs.

Kowalski's feet come down off his desk at that. He is staring at them  
now, his blue eyes stormy, not even trying to hide his interest. Or  
is it jealousy? Fraser is increasingly convinced that is indeed the  
case, but he needs to make absolutely sure.

"Perhaps you should just get the ones on the murder," he tells  
Frannie with a warm look. "I wouldn't want you to hurt your back  
carrying a large stack of files�"

Ray snorts angrily. "She's stronger than she looks," he mutters  
under his breath. Frannie doesn't hear him, but Fraser catches the remark.  
"She could hogtie a Mountie in eight seconds flat!"

Fraser tries not to smile. So far, his plan is working perfectly.

But then Frannie suddenly, unexpectedly grabs his lanyard. "I have  
an idea," she says, tugging at it with a strength that is indeed  
surprising in a woman so small and seemingly delicate. "Why don't  
you come with me, and we can both get them out?"

"Uhhh�" Fraser tries to object, but she's got a stranglehold  
on his lanyard now, and is pulling him along helplessly behind her.  
He sees Stan shoot to his feet, a vein throbbing in his temple, but then  
Frannie whisks him away down a corridor out of sight. They're ostensibly  
heading for the file room, but as they pass a closet which he and her  
brother often used for confidential talks, Frannie suddenly says, "Frase,  
there's something I've been meaning to ask you�Privately, that is.  
Can you come in here for a second?" She pulls him towards the closet  
door.

Fraser is beginning to think this isn't the best plan he ever devised  
after all. And knowing Frannie's romantic proclivities, he finally manages  
a strangled protest. "No. I don't think we should--"

But Francesca isn't listening. The next thing he knows, she's dragged  
him into the darkened closet and shut the door securely behind them.  
Her arms twine around his neck like clinging vines in the musty darkness.  
"What I've been wanting to ask you is, do you wanna kiss me as much  
I wanna kiss you?"

Fraser freezes in terror. And before he can say 'No, please don't,'  
or anything at all, Frannie drags his head down in the darkness and kisses  
him, softly but firmly. Several times�

"God dammit!" someone curses. The next thing Fraser knows,  
the door is wrenched open so hard it's almost pulled off its hinges.  
Light spills over the shameful scene, and Frannie is torn away from him  
so abruptly�and so roughly�that she shrieks in protest.

"Owww!" she cries, as she's jerked unceremoniously back into  
the hallway.

Fraser himself is nearly jerked off his feet. But he doesn't protest  
as he steps back out into the hallway. He's shamed into silence.

Because Stan stands there like an avenging angel, his eyes burning, his  
face flushed with anger as his eyes rake them both. Totally unmoved  
by Frannie's cry of distress, he roars, "What the hell do you think  
yer doing?" And pushes her even further away from Fraser.

Frannie rubs her elbow, equally furious. "None of your�"

Stan shakes his head, shoves his face intimidatingly close to hers.  
"No, don't answer that! I know exactly what you were doin'!"  
he yells in a savage voice Fraser has never heard him use outside of  
an interrogation room before. _"You wanted a little Mountie nooner!  
Dintcha'!" _

Ray looks wild, red-faced and so close to a nuclear meltdown that for  
once, even Frannie is cowed. Fraser hears her mutter "Prevert"  
under her breath, but she doesn't look at Ray, or try to argue with him.  
Which is probably wise. But Fraser opens his mouth to chide Stan on  
her behalf. He has no idea what a 'nooner' is, but judging by Ray's  
tone of voice, it's a crude sexual reference, and he means to ask him  
to apologize to Frannie for it. After all, this whole situation is his  
fault.

But he doesn't get the chance. Ray suddenly turns on him with a look  
that is, if possible, even more dangerous than the one he just hit Frannie  
with. "What I wanna know is, what the hell were _you_ doin'?  
Huh? Get yer brains caught in yer zipper?"

Fraser flushes. Ray Vecchio once told him what that particular expression  
means, and he's so embarrassed at the way his little plan to establish  
Stan's jealousy has gotten totally out of hand that for a second, he  
doesn't know how to answer that charge. That is, after all, exactly  
what he wanted Ray to think. _Well, maybe not exactly that,_ he  
corrects himself hastily. _I just wanted Ray to think I was interested  
in Frannie, possibly even dating her�not that I would have sex with  
her in a closet at the 27th!_ That very idea is so outrageous  
that he blushes.

Ray notices it, and his nostrils flare. He clearly thinks it's a sign  
of guilt.

_Oh, dear._

"Uh, no," Ben manages to croak at last. He knows it's not  
much of an answer, but with Ray hovering over him, nostrils flaring,  
arms crossed belligerently, it's hard to think of a more plausible denial.  
Behind Kowalski's back, Frannie is making some kind of strange, covert  
motions across her mouth, as if she's trying to warn Fraser about something.  
He's so distracted by the sight that for a minute, he doesn't say anything  
else.

"Well?" Ray demands furiously. "Come on! You can do  
better than that!"

"You really have this all wrong, Ray," he says at last, with  
a puzzled shrug at Francesca because he can't figure out what she's doing.

Ray's lips thin in a nasty parody of a smile he usually uses only on  
criminals. "'Zat so?" he hisses. "Then why the hell  
have you got her lipstick all over yer mouth?"

Frannie rolls her eyes in disgust.

Fraser finally realizes what her mysterious hand signals were all about.  
She was trying to tell him to wipe her lipstick off! "I can explain  
that, Ray," he says hastily. He digs out his handkerchief to remove  
the telltale marks, but he's Too Late, with a capital T. His guilty  
swabbing only seems to increase Ray's ire.

Kowalski's lips set in a cruel line. "Okay. Let's hear it!"  
He plants his hands on his hips, waiting for an explanation. But it  
crosses Fraser's mind that he should be looking at Frannie that way instead  
of him. _Why isn't he focused on her, if he's in love with her? Why  
isn't he more concerned about her innocence than mine?  
_  
That question prompts another. Fraser suddenly remembers another time,  
another place, when Detective Dewey was teasing Stan about Stella being  
in love with Alderman Orsini. He remembers how Stan didn't wait then,  
didn't hesitate. He attacked Dewey for merely insinuating the woman  
he loved had been with another man. Went for his throat like a wildman.  
But this time, though the situation is even more damning, Ray hasn't  
hit him. This time, Ray, who is always impulsive, has waited. Asked  
for an explanation, though Fraser's guilt is written all over his face  
in bright red lipstick.

_Why?_

For a moment, just for an instant, a wild thought crosses his mind.  
 _Can it be that�?_

 _No._ He rejects the idea as absurd, impossible _. Ray_ _isn't--He  
wouldn't�  
_  
 _No. Of course not._ He shakes himself. Forces his mind back  
to the task at hand. Tells himself that this incident, awkward though  
it is, has proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that Ray is, in fact, in  
love with Francesca. So how is he going to convince him that she really  
didn't touch him just now, when Ray already saw her lipstick smeared  
all over his mouth? Logically, there are only two possible explanations  
for that: one is that he kissed her, the other that she kissed him.  
And neither explanation is likely to meet with favor in his partner's  
eyes right now.

It doesn't occur to him to clear himself by pinning the blame for the  
kiss on Francesca�that would be unthinkable, since it would violate  
the code of chivalry long ago drummed into him by his grandmother.  
And lying to clear either of them is equally unthinkable. The Code will  
not allow him to invent a spurious explanation for the presence of her  
lipstick on his mouth, either. Even if he could think of one with Ray  
glaring at him, which he can't. So he does the only thing he can, the  
only honorable thing�the only fair thing, since this whole mess  
began as a kind of jealousy test on his part. The Code does permit little  
white lies, for noble purposes such as the preservation of a lady's reputation.  
So Ben gallantly tells one, shouldering the blame.

"All right, Ray! If you must know, I lost control and kissed Francesca  
just now. But it was entirely my fault, and�"

Ray's mouth twists in the ugliest sneer Fraser has ever seen on his handsome  
face. His eyes turn dark and bitter with betrayal. He backs away, towards  
Francesca, but his eyes never leave Fraser's face. "Yeah, sure!"  
he hisses. "Lemme guess: she overpowered you, right? You couldn't  
stop her?"

Fraser and Frannie both blink, taken aback by Ray's unexpectedly bitter  
reaction.

Ray stops beside Francesca, waits ruthlessly until she looks up at him.  
Then he thrusts his face down until it's only inches from hers and snarls,  
"Don't let me spoil yer fun, Frannie! Go ahead�have yer little  
nooner! Jump him! _See if I care!"  
_  
"Ray, stop it!" Frannie cries, so hurt and embarrassed she  
has tears in her eyes.

Fraser is shocked too. Even furious. He's never seen Ray behave like  
this to a woman, ever. He's at Ray's side in a heartbeat, drawing a  
stunned Francesca away from him. "Ray! That was�"

 _Uncalled for,_ he meant to say, but he never gets the chance.  
Kowalski grabs him, shoves him up against the wall, his face twisted  
with rage. "Don't," he growls. "Don't talk to me! Just  
shut up!" He holds him against the wall, his hands twisted deep  
into his jacket. Fraser can feel Ray's pulse pounding in the wrists  
that have balled into fists against his chest, and he knows he's a hair  
away from explosion.

"Benny!" Francesca whispers from behind them, fear and shock  
in her voice. She takes a tentative step forward, as if she means to  
try and pull Ray off of him. Fraser cuts his eyes at her, warning her  
not to even try it. He doesn't move himself, doesn't raise his hands  
or even try to defend himself. He just stares at his partner silently,  
hoping his gaze can reach past his rage to the saner man inside him.

After a long moment, Ray lets him go.

But Fraser isn't sure if it's because he's mastered his rage�or  
if despair overcame it. Ray's eyes are hooded, revealing nothing, but  
his shoulders sag a little as he turns suddenly and walks away.

"Ray, don't be like that!" Francesca calls after him, surprising  
Fraser. "Come on�I'm the one who kissed him, really. And  
I was just kidding, you know�"

Fraser raises an eyebrow at her belated confession. She sounds as if  
she feels sorry for Ray somehow, which is strange under the circumstances.

Ray doesn't pay any attention to her. He strides off without a backward  
look at either of them.

Fraser expects Frannie to vent her feelings at last. Throw up her hands,  
spout a little Italian and ask, "Geesh! What's up with him?"  
But to his surprise, she doesn't. Instead, she stares at the spot where  
Ray disappeared around the corner with a stunned look on her face. As  
if she's had a minor but very disturbing revelation.

He can't imagine what it could be. And Frannie evidently isn't going  
to tell him. Which is so unlike her that it almost scares him. People  
aren't reacting at all the way he expects. First he completely miscalculates  
the intensity of his partner's reaction to his little experiment, then  
Francesca begins acting queerly. _It's been a very strange day so  
far,_ Fraser thinks glumly. _Not to mention upsetting._ He  
can pursue dangerous criminals unarmed without a qualm, but the idea  
of his friends not getting along worries him. He asks quietly, "Are  
you all right, Francesca?"

She nods. Rubs the arm Ray grabbed, then shivers. "Yeah. Yeah,  
I'm fine. But I don't think he is."

"I think you're right." He moves to go after him, but Frannie  
catches his arm unexpectedly.

"I don't think you should do that, Frase," she says softly.  
"Just leave him alone for awhile. I'll try and talk to him later.  
Okay?"

He stares down at her, wide-eyed. He knows Ray's unexpected fury scared  
her, which makes her offer to make peace between them doubly surprising.  
"Are you sure that would be wise, Francesca?" he asks at last,  
dubious.

Frannie nods. "Yeah. I mean�It was kinda my fault, you know?"  
she says quickly. "So I should talk to him."

Fraser nods after a moment. Though he could've sworn she was unaware  
that Ray evidently has romantic feelings for her, Frannie seems to understand  
what just happened better than he does somehow. "All right,"  
he nods finally. "I've got to get back to the Consulate. But call  
and let me know if he's still upset after you talk to him, would you?"

Frannie smiles at him a little. Pats his arm, but in a proper, sisterly  
way this time. "Sure, Frase. I'll let you know. And umm�I'm  
sorry about that. I didn't mean to�"

He pats her shoulder. "Don't worry about it," he says, meaning  
it. "I've forgotten about it already."

But he is sure Stan hasn't.

 

**************************************************************************************

 

Later that night, Ray tries to watch a game on TV. Hawks vs. the Leafs.  
Not that it's much of a game, the Hawks are wiping the floor of the rink  
with the Leafs, as usual, but he usually enjoys that.

Not tonight. Tonight, he doesn't even see the plays. All he sees, over  
and over again in his mind, is himself, acting like an asshole at the  
station. Grabbing Fraser and Frannie like some goddamn high school chaperone  
gone berserk. Freaking at the sight of Frannie's lipstick on Ben's gorgeous  
mouth. Knowing she'd had a taste of what he'd been wanting so badly  
for so long, and that she might've had more�might've bagged the  
Mountie in a closet, for shit's sake!--if he hadn't come along and stopped  
it.

 _Freak,_ he groans to himself. Because he'd had absolutely no right  
to do that. No right to grab them, less still to holler at them. If  
they want to screw each other's brains out in a closet, what business  
is it of his? After all, Frannie isn't even really his sister�

She'd surprised the hell out of him, afterwards, too. Despite the way  
he'd grabbed her, hard enough to hurt, she hadn't confronted him, hadn't  
said a word about his manhandling or his screaming fit of jealousy.  
He'd avoided her after his rage died away because remorse had set in,  
and he didn't think he could stand to hear the angry words she was entitled  
to heap on his idiotic head. Hell, knowing Frannie, she was liable to  
hit him with something to boot. Besides, he was too busy hating himself  
to deal with her hatred too.

But she didn't hate him. Didn't hit him. Didn't even scream at him.  
Instead, she came up to his desk a couple of hours after it happened  
and asked him quietly if he was okay. Her big brown eyes were worried  
and sincere, like he really was her brother and she didn't want anything  
coming between them. "It's okay," she'd said, laying her hand  
gently on his for a second. "I understand, Ray."

And he'd had the strangest feeling that she did; and that she didn't  
hate him for it, either. Her eyes had held his for a long time, and  
something wordless had passed between them, something warm and good that  
he couldn't put a name to. She'd given him the feeling somehow that  
she wouldn't be dragging Fraser into any more closets for awhile. At  
least, not while he was around.

"Thanks," he said. "I'm sorry."

Not the greatest speech in the world, or the most original either, but  
then he'd never been good with words. But Frannie hadn't seemed to mind  
how tongue-tied he was after she touched him. She'd smiled at him anyway,  
then gone quietly back to her desk.

But he wondered if she understood his reaction, if she guessed that her  
unexpected forgiveness had overwhelmed him. He wasn't used to being  
let off the hook like that. Couldn't quite believe it. She'd been far  
nicer to him than Stella would've been if he'd grabbed her and yelled  
at her like that. Stella would've taken his head off, would've made  
him feel like pond scum. But Frannie had smiled at him, touched his  
hand, let him know they were still tight. Maybe it was because she was  
Italian, and more used to noisy displays of emotion�or maybe she  
just wasn't the vengeful type. Maybe both. All he knew for sure was,  
she'd forgiven him when he didn't deserve it. She'd made him really  
glad, for once, that her real brother was away, and that he could be  
her brother, at least for awhile.

"Flowers," he mumbles as the Hawks score onscreen. "I'll  
have to get her some flowers."

That will make Frannie happy, and make him feel better about behaving  
like such a shithead. Like he halfway deserves having her for a sister,  
even if it's only for awhile.

_But what the hell am I gonna do about Fraser?_

He groans again. Frannie might understand now, but he doubts Fraser  
does. How the hell is he going to explain the way he went ballistic  
on him for kissing her? He acted like a jealous boyfriend, when he and  
Frannie aren't even dating!

 _Get yer brains caught in yer zipper?_ he hears himself snarl at  
his partner for the thousandth time. He winces. _Yeah, someone did,_  
he thinks sourly. _But it wasn't Big Red. It was you._

 __He wonders if Fraser will draw the safe conclusion that he has the  
hots for Frannie because of it. Wonders if he has the guts to set him  
straight, tell him the truth.

He shuts off the TV before the game even ends. _Fuck the game._  
He doesn't give a damn. All he's given a damn about for months now is  
Benton Fraser, the perfect Mountie. Who somehow managed to look gorgeous  
even after being dragged out of a dirty closet with bright red lipstick  
all over his mouth. Who kissed a woman instead of him. Who'd stood  
there begging him, with those beautiful eyes, not to lose control and  
let the stupid scene become a knock-down dragout brawl.

Fraser was the only person in the universe who could've stopped him at  
that moment.

And the only one who could hurt him enough to have caused it.

Ray groans again. _What the hell am I gonna do?  
_

**************************************************************************************

 

Fraser discovers, later that afternoon, that Frannie is as good as her  
word. She calls him to tell him that she's spoken to Ray, and that he's  
calmed down about the incident between them in the closet. "He  
just lost it for a minute, but he's okay now. He's not mad at us anymore."

"I'm glad," Fraser says. But he's also curious. "What  
did you say to him?"

Frannie is unexpectedly evasive. "Oh, you know�The usual stuff,"  
she says airily. "Sister stuff. I know I screw up with the computer  
sometimes, but I'm good at that."

Fraser smiles long distance at this woman who is the sister he never  
had. "Your computer skills are quite good for someone who hasn't  
had any previous training, Francesca," he says warmly, "and  
your skills as a sister have always been outstanding. Thank you."

He feels her smile back. "You're welcome, Benton," she says  
softly. "Ciao."

But Ray himself doesn't call. Fraser decides it might be wise to let  
him cool off for awhile, despite Frannie's reassurance, so he doesn't  
go near the 27th for awhile either.

 

**************************************************************************************

 

That night, when he finally goes to bed, Ray has the Merman dream again�

He's had it before. Many times. It started some time after he nearly  
drowned on the Henry Allen.

He is floating in dark, icy water. Swimming as best he can, which isn't  
well. Trying to bloom like a flower, but floundering instead. But he  
keeps going, because the water's so cold and he's scared. Terrified.  
He has to get out but he's trapped, there's no end to the water, and  
he's running out of air.

He pushes forward, but his panic mounts. It's dark, and so cold, and  
his heart is pounding so hard it seems to boom in his ears. There's  
pressure building in his chest, building�

_I can't breathe�_

__His terrified heartbeat grows louder, until it fills the world.  
He can't swim any further, knows nothing but the intense, aching need  
to breathe. He falters, drifts down in the coldness, starts to black  
out. Float away from his body.

Then it happens. Something touches him. Something warm, impossibly  
warm in that icy water. Big, strong hands cup his cheeks, hold his face�A  
warm, commanding mouth closes over his, forces his lips open, breathes  
life into him again. Air. Warm, beautiful, wonderful air. He gulps  
at it, takes all the stranger has in several deep gasps. Feels the contact  
like an electric shock all through his body�

Then he opens his eyes. Sees long, dark hair floating about him, black  
as a raven's wing. Azure eyes, blue as the sea, smile into his as the  
stranger breaks the kiss, floats effortlessly in front of him. He sees  
pale white skin, a gorgeous torso with broad shoulders and well-defined  
biceps, and for a second, he thinks _I know you�  
_  
But then he sees the tail. The long, scaly, bright red tail stretching  
out below the stranger's upper body, where his hips and legs should be.  
But he doesn't have legs. Just that scarlet tail with flecks of gold,  
that ends in a graceful, bifurcated curve like a whale's tail.

 _Jesus!_ _It's a mermaid,_ he thinks, awestruck. Then, with  
a second glance at the superbly muscled chest, he corrects himself.  
 _No, make that a merman._

Ray blinks in wonder. He's never seen anything like it before. Never  
expected to. The merman looks back at him calmly, its eyes dancing with  
secret merriment. Its tail beats slightly, gracefully back and forth  
in the water, in flashes of red and gold, keeping it close to him. Its  
hair hovers about it, moving in slow, dark, sinuous swirls, almost as  
if it has a life of its own. It's the most beautiful, magical, incredible  
thing he's ever seen.

He reaches for him, enchanted, longing to be kissed again, and the merman  
comes to him. Draws him close again, long dark lashes sweeping down  
over those sea blue eyes as he kisses Ray gently. The merman tastes  
salty and sweet at the same time. Ray draws breath from him again as  
their tongues entwine, as the merman's strong arms enfold him, dispelling  
the chill of the water, rocking him in a gentle, tidal rhythm. He relaxes  
completely, knowing he's safe now. The merman has saved him, he loves  
him, he won't let him drown. He's making love to him with that salty-sweet  
mouth; and Ray is aroused beyond belief. Rock-hard, just from kissing  
him�

Then the merman slides his tail between his legs. Begins rubbing it  
against his crotch as they hang there in the water. Twines the end around  
his leg as he undulates against him, muscles rippling�Wraps his  
whole body around him. Ray clutches at the merman's broad back, buries  
a hand in the long, silky dark hair that floats around him. It's cool,  
silky, and incredibly erotic sliding between his fingers. His heart  
is pounding, pounding from the pleasure of their silent, aquatic lovemaking.  
He's delirious, the blood's pounding in his head, his whole body is one  
throbbing pulse of ecstasy�

He comes. Hard, so hard his whole body shakes with it. He springs bolt  
upright in bed, spurting, throbbing, gasping for breath. When it's over,  
he reaches out blindly for his merman lover, but the darkness around  
him is empty. For a second, all he knows is that he's lost him. And  
even on the heels of his climax, that realization stabs at his heart.  
He cries out hoarsely into the darkness. "Benny!"

But there's no merman with red scales there. Not even a Mountie in a  
red uniform. Then he realizes: _It was just a dream._

He's alone in his bed. Alone.

He lies back, panting and sweaty and completely wretched. "God  
damn it!" _Goddamn dream!_ He hates it, hates it with a passion�but  
he can't stop dreaming it. And he knows why.

And that makes it even worse.

"Screwin' a goddamn fish," he breathes, trying to banish the  
memory of magic with crude words. "It's stupid. Shit!" But  
cursing it doesn't remove the ache in his heart. Doesn't make his room  
any less empty. He rubs at his stinging eyes, but can't stop the tears  
that roll down his cheeks, over his lips.

They taste salty. Like the merman.

 

**************************************************************************************

 

Fraser waits patiently for two days after the kissing incident, to see  
if Ray will call him to mend fences, so to speak. He doesn't. But two  
days later, much to his surprise, Ray's GTO is parked outside his apartment  
building when he leaves for work in the morning. Though he hasn't spoken  
to him since the incident with Francesca, Ray waves to him casually,  
as if nothing has happened. Fraser climbs into the car, trying not to  
look as surprised�or as relieved�as he feels. "Hello,  
Ray," he says, retreating into formality for safety's sake. "How  
are you?"

Ray smiles at him. "Hangin' in there, Benton buddy," he says.

The smile is brief, but the tone's affectionate. Fraser gets the message:  
All is forgiven. But Ray doesn't want to talk about what happened.  
But Fraser himself is madly curious. _What did Frannie say to him,  
to calm his rage? What magic words did she utter, to tame the Kowalski  
beast?_ "I see," he says. "Uhh�Did Francesca�"

Stan pulls away from the curb suddenly, his fingers tightening unconsciously  
on the wheel. He looks at the road, avoiding Fraser's eyes. "Yeah,  
Frannie talked to me. We're cool," he says.

Fraser looks down at his hat. "That's good. I'm glad," he  
says. And he is, but he's still frustrated by Kowalski's terseness.  
 _What exactly did Frannie say? What did Ray say to her? And what  
should I say to him, to make up for my part in this mess? _He turns  
his hat around in his hands, thinking about it. Sneaks a glance at Stan,  
trying to read his mood. But he has his dark sunglasses on, and his  
leather jacket, and his eyes are on the road. He's in full Cool mode,  
and Fraser knows he won't get another word out of him about it. He sighs  
to himself. Because something, some sixth sense tells him that Ray is  
still unhappy. The dark cloud that's been hanging over his head has  
not been dispelled one whit by that nonsense with Francesca; and he knows  
he is partly to blame.

He swallows hard, nerving himself for more than just an apology. He's  
decided to stick to his original plan, and tell Ray that he's not interested  
in Francesca romantically, so that he will feel free to pursue her himself,  
and stop misunderstanding her little gestures towards him. Then Fraser  
remembers her ardent kiss the other day in the closet, and blushes a  
little. _All right, so maybe Ray didn't entirely misunderstand that  
little gesture�  
_  
Francesca wants him, and she's never made any bones about it.

But Fraser suspects that Ray wants her just as badly. And since he's  
an attractive man in his own right, perhaps if he feels the way is clear  
to court Francesca, he'll win her over in time. Fraser fervently hopes  
so, since Francesca's ardent pursuit has caused him no end of difficulties  
over the last few years. "I'm sorry�about the other day,"  
he mutters at last.

"What's that?"

Fraser clears his throat awkwardly. "I don't�Well, that is,  
Francesca is a wonderful woman," he stutters. "Attractive,  
kind�Did you know she also cooks very well too?"

Stan shoots him a sideways look. Ignores his complimentary words about  
Frannie, and focuses on his original apology. "So? What about  
the other day?"

Fraser turns his hat over, vastly uncomfortable. "What I'm trying  
to say is, that was a mistake. On my part. I've been lonely, and I�Well,  
it's just that Francesca can be very�persuasive, and I�"

"Lost yer head?" Ray says.

"You could call it that�"

"Got swept away?"

"Something like that, yes�"

"Were too sexy for yer shirt?" Ray suggests.

"What?" Ben asks, completely confused.

Ray grins. "Never mind. I'm just messin' with ya'. Don't worry  
about it, Fraser. It's over. Finito Benito. Anyway, I got a little  
'swept away' there too. Sorry I yelled at ya'."

"It's all right."

"But uh�What were you sayin' about Frannie?"

"Oh. Well�Just that she's a great cook, and she has a kind  
heart, and�"

"And?"

"And�she's like a sister to me," he says carefully, staring  
out the window. "Just like a sister."

Ray turns his head and gives him a long, silent look. Fraser wishes  
desperately that he could see behind his dark glasses, see what emotions  
are swimming in those intense blue eyes, but no such luck. After a long  
moment, Ray turns his head back to the road again. "Uh huh,"  
is all he says.

Fraser gets the feeling somehow that Ray doesn't know what he is talking  
about. He isn't surprised. These are deep emotional waters, and he's  
often been accused of babbling hopelessly when required to speak of such  
things. He assumes he hasn't been very clear this time, either. "What  
I'm trying to say is, I'm not�That is, I have no romantic feelings  
for Francesca."

Stan gives him another sideways glance. "Uh huh," he says  
again. Only this time it's tinged with disbelief.

"Truly," Fraser insists.

 

Stan is suddenly glad he has his dark glasses on. Because he suddenly  
realizes that what he thought was just kind of silly babble about Frannie  
isn't really babble at all. Fraser is trying to tell him something.  
Something important. That he doesn't want her. Despite the kiss in  
the closet, the lipstick, and his blushes and all. And the implications  
of that are so stunning that Stan's afraid he may lose control of the  
GTO. He tightens suddenly sweaty hands on the wheel.

_Damn! Is he saying what I think he's saying?_

_Naawww. Can't be.  
_  
After all, he and the Mountie have had communication problems before.  
Actually, they have them fairly often. And he can't afford to be wrong  
about this. Needs to be sure this is real. Not some pleasant little  
daydream his imagination (which is overactive in the extreme regarding  
the Mountie) may have cooked up. So he pretends to be skeptical. "Uh  
huh," he says, in his best 'Yeah, right, tell me another one' voice.  
Holding the wheel hard all the while, so his hands don't start shaking;  
and watching Fraser just as hard, out of the corner of his eye.

"Truly," Fraser says. And gives him the big-eyed Mountie look,  
to prove it.

Stan can't look away. That look is gospel, like the Bible, something  
to be sworn by. If Fraser says something and gives you the Look, you'd  
better believe it. _Damn�he means it!_

He stares into those wide blue eyes, lets himself drown in them, in the  
Look. Lets himself imagine, for just a minute, that it means something  
more than what Fraser has said. Not just that he's not in love with  
Frannie, but that he's in love with�

The next thing he knows, his little daydream is interrupted. Fraser's  
perfect lips are moving. Forming his name. Yelling at him. "Ray.  
Ray. Ray! RAY!"

_What the�_

__Ray breaks out of his stunned trance just in time to see that he's  
somehow hit the gas while drooling over the Mountie. They're now going  
85 mph., and he's about to drive the GTO up the back of a Caddy in front  
of them. Fraser is clinging, white-knuckled and wide-eyed, to the dashboard  
while shrieking his name. He swerves madly into the next lane at the  
last possible second, narrowly avoiding a collision.

Both cop and Mountie breathe heavily for a moment. Neither speaks.  
Then Fraser picks up his hat, puts it on his lap again, and clears his  
throat. He's even paler than is normal for him. "I'm sorry,"  
he says. "If I'd known it was going to upset you that much, I wouldn't  
have told you that I'm not in love with Francesca."

Ray grimaces, highly embarrassed at his momentary lapse. He grits his  
teeth and hangs onto the wheel grimly, pretending to be in complete control.  
Not just of the GTO, but himself too. "Upset? Me? I'm not upset!  
What gave you that idea?" he snorts.

"Well, the way you almost hit that Cadillac was certainly indicative�"

"Indicative!" he echoes scornfully. "Whaddaya' mean,  
'indicative'? What the hell kinda word is that?" He actually knows  
perfectly well what it means, but he also knows exactly how to distract  
the Mountie. He's been down this verbal path before, and knows there's  
no surer way to get him off track than to mock his amazing vocabulary.  
And sparring with him about that will give Ray time to recover from his  
trance, and their near accident.

"It's an adjective, Ray, which means 'to indicate or point out'�"

Stan tries not to smile. Works every time! "Then why don't you  
just say so? Say 'pointing out'! Use plain English, for once! Indicative,  
my--"

"All right then. In plain English, 'I'd like to point out that  
I think you're upset because you almost crashed the car'!" Fraser  
says, a trace of exasperation in his normally calm voice. "Is that  
plain enough?"

Ray shrugs. "Guess so. I just don't happen to agree with it.  
I was makin' a lane change, that's all. Do it all the time." He's  
relaxed by now. Hidden behind his glasses again. Cool. Tough. Completely  
in control. Happy that he's managed to distract Fraser from the treacherous  
subject of what he doesn't feel for Frannie, and may or may not feel  
for anyone else. For him.

He needs time to deal with the whole thing. Can't take all that in now,  
while he's driving. It makes his head spin, fill with fantasies of what  
he could do if he just pulled the GTO off the road and�

"Lane change, my eye," Fraser mutters.

Ray tries not to grin. "What?"

Fraser sighs. Turns his hat in his hands. Gives him a sideways look.  
"Nothing," he says at last.

 _Good,_ Ray thinks. _This is good._

_I need time�_

 

**************************************************************************************

 

As it turns out, he doesn't get much. Seven days later, he and Fraser  
are crouched behind a filing cabinet in an old warehouse where they've  
chased a member of a ring of computer thieves to ground. The problem  
is, the thief is bold and well-armed, and holed up behind an even larger  
bunch of cabinets, where he can shoot at them with impunity. And Ray  
is running out of ammo.

And scared shitless, worried that Fraser is going to get killed. That  
he's going to lose him�

"Keep yer head down, dammit!" he yells, as the Mountie stands  
up a bit behind him. When the perp nearly shoots a hole in his hat,  
Ray almost loses his lunch. He's not a guy who thinks much about the  
future, but all of a sudden he's having horrible visions of Fraser in  
a coffin, and him left all alone. _Shit! Goddamn idiot! I've never  
even told him how I feel, and he's tryin' to eat a bullet!_ "Down!"  
he hisses, heart pounding. He turns his head to make sure Fraser is  
obeying him this time. "That means down, not up! In case you haven't  
noticed, his aim is pretty good!"

Ray's worried enough that he's already put his glasses on. And he'd  
never admit it, but his hand is so slick with scared sweat that he's  
having trouble holding onto his gun.

As usual, the Mountie is unflappable. "Oh, I've noticed that he  
can shoot, Ray. But I've also noticed�" He starts to rise  
again.

Ray grabs his lanyard and yanks him back down hard, just as another bullet  
whines overhead. "What the hell did I just say?"

"�That he's getting a bit careless," Fraser continues,  
unperturbed. "He's starting to lean far enough out when I stand  
up that if you could just aim for his right hand�"

"Oh, sure! You just stand up and get your head blown off, so I  
can get a good shot at him!" Ray sneers, to cover the fact that  
Fraser's idea of a plan terrifies him. TV detectives are always doing  
shit like that, shooting guns out of perp's hands, but in real life,  
it's damn difficult. Even though he has his glasses on, he's not sure  
he can do it.

"Try, Ray," Fraser says sternly. Then he pulls his lanyard  
away and jumps to his feet again. So Ray sights desperately at the perp,  
heart hammering so hard it feels like it'll burst right out of his chest.  
Difficult or not, he's got to try the shot, because this is Fraser.  
 _Please, God, please!_ he prays. _Don't let anything happen to  
him�  
_  
And then he sees it. _Fraser's right, the little scumbag is leanin'  
out too far! _ He aims at his hand. Prays _please, just lemme make  
this shot�  
_  
BAM!

Two shots ring out, at the same second. The perp screams, drops his  
gun and falls to the floor, cradling his bloody hand. But Ray has no  
time to pat himself on the back for making the shot, because at the same  
time, he hears Fraser grunt behind him, hears him stumble.

"Fraser!"

He's on his feet in a second and reaching for him. Doesn't realize his  
face is white with fear as he looks down at the rip in Fraser's right  
sleeve. A bullet's gone though it a few inches below the shoulder.  
"Fuck!" he breathes, his hands shaking. "You okay?"

 _He isn't, he's been shot!�I let Frase get shot�  
_  
"Language, Ray!" the Mountie says primly. "I'm fine,  
it's only a flesh wound."

Ray isn't very reassured by that, since Fraser would say the same thing  
if he were on the ground with bullets in both his arms, legs and every  
vital organ. "Lemme see!" he demands, freaked by the sight  
of his blood. He peels his ripped sleeve back with trembling hands,  
sees that the bullet dug a deep crease along the outside of his bicep.  
It's bleeding and no doubt it hurts like hell�but it won't kill  
him.

"Okay. Okay, that's not too bad," Ray croaks, trying to sound  
cool. To look cool, instead of on the verge of complete panic, like  
he was. He can't lose it in front of Fraser. Even though he now knows  
he doesn't have a thing for Frannie, he still doesn't want him to suspect  
how he feels, either. Lose your partner to a bullet, or to a guilty  
secret�gone is still gone.

But Fraser is getting impatient. "Quick, Ray! Go get the thief,  
before he gets away!"

"No. I'm gettin' you a bus first."

"That's really not necessary, Ray."

Ray ignores him. He pulls out his cell phone and calls it in, asks for  
an ambulance.

Fraser is busy watching the thief. "Hurry, Ray!" he urges  
as soon as he hangs up.

Ray draws a deep, shaky breath. Runs an unsteady hand across his eyes.  
"Okay. You just stay here," he says. Only then does he go  
after the perp, like he's supposed to. When he runs, gun in hand again,  
to get him, the thief's lying on the ground moaning and clutching his  
bloody hand. "Stay down, you shithead!" Ray yells. "And  
kick the gun away!"

The guy moans in protest. "You shot me, man!"

He keeps his gun trained on his head. "KICK IT NOW!" he yells,  
ruthless. _You think that's bad�Yer lucky, you little sonuvabitch.  
If you'd really hurt him, I'd've capped you._

 __He watches as the guy kicks his gun away. "Smart move,"  
he says. He doesn't let himself think of what he would've done if the  
little twit had killed Ben. He doesn't even want to imagine that.  
 _  
_  
**************************************************************************************

 

Fraser watches his partner closely as he disarms the thief. The Mountie's  
apparent calm is only a mask. Inside, he's profoundly disquieted.

 _Why is Ray so upset?_ Kowalski is a seasoned policeman, with a  
lot of gun battles under his belt, but he turned white at the sight of  
his blood. Dead white, as if he were going to faint. His hands shook,  
and his voice was a hoarse, panicked croak as he examined his wound.  
It fairly crackles with rage now, as he screams at the downed suspect.  
The fact that he's been shot has changed the situation from a normal  
arrest into something intensely personal for Ray.

Then again--is it his wound that set Stan off? Or is this just part  
and parcel of his strange behavior lately?

Keeping a hand firmly clamped to his arm to stem his bleeding, Fraser  
wonders. He remembers the wild suspicion that crossed his mind the day  
Frannie kissed him, and Stan became similarly enraged.

He's tried to put that suspicion out of his mind, but it returns to haunt  
him now, as Stan hauls the thief roughly to his feet and reads him his  
rights. He'd assumed his wild explosion that day was caused by jealousy  
over Frannie�but now he's not so sure. Though Ray has known for  
a week that he's not romantically interested in her, his behavior towards  
her hasn't changed in the slightest. Though he did send her flowers  
the day after the incident, it was clear they were meant as an apology.  
He's made no effort to ask her out on a date. _Hardly the actions  
of a man who's wildly in love with Francesca._

 __Still, everything Ray has done lately--his brooding silences, his  
fit of rage at Frannie's kisses, his preoccupation while driving, and  
his overreaction to his current wound--would fit the pattern of a man  
who is very much in love. The only question is, with whom?

Fraser thinks he knows. He closes his eyes, more frightened of the possible  
answer to that than he was of getting shot.

"Hey, Frase!" Ray calls instantly. "You okay?"

Despite his duties with their prisoner, Ray is obviously still watching  
him closely. Still very worried about him. Fraser groans silently at  
the implications of that. _Dear God�what if it's true?_ Then  
he opens his eyes again, and tries to smile. "Yes. I'm fine,"  
he calls back. Contradicting the popularly held idea at the 27th  
District that Mounties don't lie.

 

**************************************************************************************

 

That night, Ray can't sleep. He's put away another bad guy. Knows he  
should feel good about it. But he doesn't. He keeps hearing those bullets  
whining over Fraser's head, keeps seeing his blood, knows how close he  
came to losing him�and it makes him shudder. Makes him feel sick  
inside. Fraser has saved his butt many times, so many he's stopped counting.  
He even saved him from drowning on that damn ship with that buddy kiss  
thing�

_But I let him get shot._

He can't get past it. He told Thatcher once that he wouldn't even know  
who he is anymore without the Mountie. He isn't happy about that, never  
knew it would happen, but it's true. Fraser's more than his partner,  
more than his friend�

 _I love him_ , he thinks. And it scares him. Bad. Enough to make  
him want to run for the hills. But where would he go? Where on earth  
could he possibly go that would be far enough away to make him forget  
those blue eyes and that brave heart? Where could he ever find another  
guy who will like him and accept him like Fraser does?

And why can't that be enough?

 _Because I want him too. I didn't ask for that to happen either, but  
it did.  
_  
He runs a worried hand through his hair, touseling it even more than  
it usually is. Funny, how he used to think losing Stella was the worst  
thing that could ever happen to him. That had been bad, that had been  
really bad�but this is even worse. At least he'd been able to tell  
her how she'd hurt him; at least they'd been able to talk about it.  
He'd talked to his mom about it too, and Ben�and it had helped.  
And at least he and Stella are still friends, even though they aren't  
lovers anymore.

But he can't tell Ben, or his mom, or anyone about this--and he's never  
been Ben's lover. Not even once. And he's never going to be. Because  
he's broken all the rules this time, fallen in love with a guy�and  
not just any guy, but Mr. Straight personified, who's never going to  
even look at him like that�

He finds himself pacing the floor. Up and down, up and down. He knows  
it isn't going to solve anything, but it's not his nature to sit still.  
And he's so wrought up now, after almost losing Ben earlier, that it's  
either move or jump out of his skin. So he paces some more.

But it just keeps hurting. It keeps getting worse until he can't stand  
it. He keeps seeing Fraser's arm, and the blood. He let him get shot  
today, almost let him get killed� When he found his wound wasn't  
serious, he was shaking with relief. Shaking. It was all he could do  
to keep from hugging him once he saw that he was all right.

 _But I didn't even do that,_ he thinks bitterly. _Couldn't.  
'Cuz what would he've thought? _He paces faster. hating himself.  
 _What the hell kind of life is this, where I'm livin' that kind of  
lie? Where I can't even touch the one person I love the most, when I  
almost lost him? Huh?  
_  
He paces, but all he finds are questions. All he feels is a huge hollow  
inside of him, with pain licking around the edges of it. Swallowing  
him whole, like white fire. He doesn't find any relief; and there are  
no answers.

Finally, in desperation, he turns on some music. Tries to dance to it,  
imagining he's holding the Mountie. But that only makes him laugh.  
Bitterly. Because he's never done that, so he can't even imagine what  
it would be like. _Who the hell would lead?_

Another stupid question he can't answer.

One too many. He shuts off the stereo, opens a cabinet door. Takes  
out a bottle of Stoly, plunks down on the couch and starts swigging.  
It burns down his throat. So what. He sips some more, staring into  
space. Trying to blot out his guilt, and the sight of Ben's eyes staring  
back at him.

_Fuck it._

_Language, Ray!_ The words echo in his mind, taunting him. He  
takes another, deeper pull at the bottle. His eyes sting. His vision  
blurs a bit. And he tells himself it's the vodka.

It has to be.

 

**************************************************************************************

Deep in the night, Ray hears a knock on his door. He's almost finished  
the bottle of vodka by then, and though it hasn't put much of a dent  
in his pain, it has made him foggy. A bit sleepy. Though that just  
could be his body booking on him, after the day he's had. Wanting to  
shut down for awhile. He's not sure.

Either way, he doesn't feel like getting up. Doesn't want to talk to  
anyone. About anything.

"Go 'way," he mutters.

The knock comes again. Louder this time. _Too loud for a woman,_  
his cop brain thinks, automatically assessing the sound despite his exhaustion.  
 _And I didn't phone for a pizza�Did I?_

Maybe he did. Because there's another knock. Clearly, whoever it is  
isn't going to take No for an answer. _Must be some delivery boy,  
wantin' his tip,_ he thinks. He gets blearily to his feet, fumbling  
in his pockets for money. Finds some, hopes it's enough for a pizza,  
and stumbles to the door.

Opens it�to find Fraser standing there.

_Oh shit�_

__

 

 __**************************************************************************************

 

Kowalski doesn't answer his door at first. Fraser knocks again and again,  
growing more and more concerned. Ray's car is parked outside, so he  
should be in. Why doesn't he answer?

_Maybe he's asleep�_

Fraser doesn't stop knocking, though. After the way Ray's been acting  
lately�especially this afternoon�he's willing to wake him and  
face his wrath, just to assure himself that he's okay. Fraser doesn't  
have any hard evidence that he isn't, but he's worried because Kowalski  
acted strange when he drove him back to the Consulate after the paramedics  
were done bandaging his arm. Despite his earlier concern, he was withdrawn  
afterwards, almost completely silent. Clammed up, as Americans were  
fond of saying. Fraser isn't sure if he regretted his overreaction to  
the shooting, or if he's angry with him for endangering himself. He  
needs to know, because Ray is his partner and his friend.

But he has another question to ask him, as well. A question that has  
to do with partnership, and friendship.

He needs to know if Ray wants to be more to him than that.

He knows it won't be easy. He's scared to even ask, afraid that Kowalski  
may punch him, or shoot him himself, if he's guessed wrong. And the  
idea that he may be right is even more terrifying. Once, he wouldn't  
have asked. Once, he would have stayed silent. Kept himself safe.  
But that was before Victoria. Before Ray Vecchio. Before he had loved  
and lost twice over, and learned just how important love can be to a  
man who has known far too much loneliness.

Some men would have turned inward after such pain. Fraser has been wise  
enough not to. He's learned the hard way how rare love really is, and  
how precious. So this time, scared though he is by the unknowns involved  
in this particular question, he will ask it anyway.

Ray deserves at least that much.

And perhaps�just perhaps�he does too.

Finally, Ray opens his door. He stands there clinging to it, dressed  
in a tank top and jeans. He's barefoot. His hair stands straight up  
as usual. He blinks like an owl. Sways ever so slightly. He looks  
dissheveled, tired, maybe a little depressed. And he's been drinking.  
Vodka, by the smell of it.

Fraser doesn't care.

He feels a wave of pure affection sweep over him, strong and unexpected.  
Ray Vecchio may have left him, but the man who took his place has burrowed  
deep into his carefully guarded heart somehow _. Ray but not Ray_ �Kowalski  
is definitely not Ray Vecchio, but he's as good a cop, as brave a man,  
as close a friend. And Stan seems to need him somehow, in a way his  
old Ray never did. _A rose,_ he thinks, _by any other name�_

 __His affectionate little reverie is broken abruptly. "Fraser!"  
Ray croaks. "What the hell are you doin' here?"

That's so like Ray that he has to hide a smile. _Well�It isn't  
exactly poetry,_ he thinks, _but it will do._

 __"I couldn't sleep," he says. Which is at least partially  
true. He couldn't have slept without knowing that Ray was all right,  
anyway. "And I wondered if you'd like some company."

Ray blinks again. Doesn't say anything for a minute. Fraser waits patiently,  
half expecting to be told gruffly that it's late, that Ray is tired,  
or that he doesn't feel like talking�

Instead, Kowalski suddenly pulls open his door. "Sure," he  
says, and motions him inside. _  
  
_  
**************************************************************************************

Ray scratches his head. Wonders what the hell he's doing. He's had  
a hard time keeping his cool around Fraser under normal conditions lately.  
He doesn't even want to think about what he might do now that he's halfway  
hammered, and still scared from the shooting earlier. But he took one  
look at him, one little glance at those blue eyes and that earnest face,  
and he couldn't send him away. Couldn't. But he tries not to stare  
as the Mountie moves past him.

Still, he can't help noticing that Fraser looks perfectly neat, as usual.  
The bandage on his arm is out of sight under a blue shirt that's neatly  
tucked into blue jeans. No hat, but his hair, as always, is perfect.

By contrast, Ray knows he must look like something the cat dragged in,  
ate, and then spat up again. He runs a hand blearily through his hair,  
not sure if he's making it better or worse. He knows his eyes are probably  
red, but there's nothing he can do about that.

Fraser pauses by his couch. Stands there staring at him, with a funny  
look in his eyes. Almost like he's thinking of some private joke Ray  
doesn't know about.

It makes him nervous. Reminds him somehow of his damn merman dream.  
For a second, just an instant, he sees long, dark hair floating around  
Fraser's head. Feels a hot mouth on his�

 _Shit._ He turns away, instantly aroused. _Don't be doin' that,_  
he warns himself. _Just don't go there�_ This is going to be  
hard enough without that. "Come on, siddown," he says awkwardly,  
gesturing towards his couch. "You want a beer or something?"

"No, thank you, Ray."

He rubs his forehead, feeling stupid. "Yeah, that's right. I forgot.  
You don't drink." _Or smoke, or sleep with guys_. He forces  
the thought away, concentrates on being polite. Not that he can ever  
hope to match Fraser in that department, but he has to be on his best  
behavior now that the Mountie's here. He'd never admit it, but Fraser's  
opinion of him matters. He doesn't want him to think he's a hopeless  
drunk. "How 'bout some tea or somethin'?"

"Tea would be nice. Thank you."

"Okay. I don't have any of that bark stuff you like, but�"

"Whatever you have will be fine, Ray."

He pads into his kitchen, trying to remember if he still has some of  
that tea he bought because Fraser said he liked it. It's the only reason  
he'd have any, he never touches the stuff himself. He just keeps it  
around for the Mountie. "It's Gary something�no, Gray. Gray  
Earl? Is that it?" he mutters to himself, opening cupboards.

"If you're talking about the brand of tea, Ray, it's Earl Gray,"  
Fraser says instantly. Ray shakes his head, smiling. _Those guys  
were right. He's got ears like a bat. _"Yeah, that's the one." _  
_  
 _Dammit, where the hell did I put it?_

He rummages around, finally finds the tin of Earl Gray in the back of  
a cabinet, up high. But drinking has made him clumsy, and while he's  
getting it out, he knocks over a bottle of Bacardi Breezer. He grabs  
for it, and misses. It falls out of the cabinet and onto the floor.  
Breaks with a big crash. Splatters across the linoleum. He closes his  
eyes. _Shit!_

 __"Ray?" Fraser is on his feet in a second, beside him in  
another.

 _Great._ "It's okay. I was gettin' the tea, and I just dropped  
a bottle o' rum cooler," he mumbles, feeling like a fool. "No  
big deal. I'll just clean it up�"

He puts the tea down, grabs a towel from beside the sink, crouches down  
to wipe up the spilled liquor.

"Here," Fraser says. "I'll help you."

Next thing Ray knows, Fraser's grabbed a towel too, and they're both  
crouched on the floor, knees almost touching, swabbing up the mess.  
"You don't haveta do that," Ray says, almost twitching because  
he's so close. "I can get it�"

Ben smiles at him. "No problem."

Then, in the midst of their swabbing, their hands collide. Ray freezes.  
Stares at the big, pale, muscular hand touching his, and swallows hard.  
Wonders what Ben would do if he grabbed it, kissed it, pulled him down  
onto the floor� _Oh, right!_ a little voice inside him snarls.  
 _There's a good idea! That'd turn him on for sure! What a brilliant  
plan! Why do it in a bed, when you can roll around on the floor in broken  
glass? Hell, that's probably how they do it in Canada! What, are you  
outta' your friggin' mind?_

He shakes his head to clear it. The stupid impulse passes, but he feels  
dizzy. He feels Ben, who's gone very still beside him, watching him.  
Willing him to look up. He tries hard not to look at him, but he can't  
stop himself. He remembers how he once thought Fraser's head might explode  
if he ever figured out how he feels about him. He can't resist checking,  
now, to see if it's still there, or if it's splattered all over his kitchen  
out of sheer shock. To see if Fraser knows�

When he looks up, Fraser's head is still there, and he's watching him  
closely. His eyes are bright blue, intensely alert�and aware of  
his reaction.

Ray pulls back as if he's been burned. Snatches his hand away so fast  
it's a blur. He's confused, embarrassed. His heart is beating way too  
fast. Fogged from the vodka, he can't think clearly. He doesn't know  
what to do, what to say to make that look in Fraser's eyes go away, to  
make that whole stupid moment just vanish. Part of him wishes he could  
think of some smart lie to cover up what he just did. But part of him�the  
drunk part, or maybe the crazy part�has this insane urge to tell  
him the truth. Just tell him. Stop hiding. Quit all the lying that  
he hates anyway.

"I'm sorry I didn't plug him sooner," he blurts out. It isn't  
the big bad truth he wants to tell, but it'll do for starters.

Fraser blinks at him in surprise. "What?"

"That thief. Burlinson," he says. "I'm sorry I let him  
shoot ya'."

There. It's out. Some of it, at least. He feels the load on his shoulders  
lighten a bit. He even risks a glance at Fraser, to see how he's taking  
it.

"Is that what's been bothering you, Ray?" Fraser asks; and  
the note of surprise in his voice goes a long way towards alleviating  
Stan's guilt. He can tell, before his friend says another word, that  
Fraser doesn't blame him for it�and that makes all the difference.

Ray shrugs, chokes down the growing impulse to let it all out, not just  
part of the truth but all of it. The whole ugly, messy, painful truth.  
That he loves him, that he needs him so much he almost panicked when  
he was in danger earlier�that he wants him so bad it's all he can  
do not to pull him down onto the floor and take him. Right here, right  
now. Best friend or not. Broken glass or not.

But he doesn't dare. He knows Fraser will forgive a lot. Hell, he's  
even forgiven him for letting him get shot. But even he has his limits,  
and Ray doesn't want to test them just now. So he just says, "Yeah.  
It's been buggin' me. I feel like I shoulda' got him sooner. Then you  
wouldn't have gotten hurt."

Fraser suddenly reaches out, puts a hand on his shoulder gently. "I  
had no idea you saw it that way, Ray," he says, just as gently.  
"I don't. My arm is fine, it hardly even hurts. And you're not  
responsible for shooting me, Mr. Burlinson is. Besides, getting shot  
is a risk we both run as policemen. And there was no way you could have  
shot him sooner, since he was behind cover until the instant you did.  
You made an excellent shot under difficult circumstances, hitting his  
hand at a distance while under fire like that. Not many cops could have  
done it. So you didn't fail in your duty, Ray. You protected me. As  
usual. If you hadn't been there with your gun, I might've been seriously  
injured. So please don't worry about it anymore."

Ray's skin is only partially covered by the thin strap of his tank top,  
so he feels the thrill of Fraser's touch, of that big, warm hand, right  
down to his toes. And his words are even better. Fraser hasn't just  
forgiven him, he's made it sound like he's thanking him! He's actually  
made him feel proud. Proud of his marksmanship. Proud of himself as  
a cop. Fraser is the only guy he knows who'd say something like that  
to him, with a bullet wound still in his arm. He feels a surge of love  
for Ben, so strong it's almost painful.

He has to pull away from him before he loses control completely, and  
tries to hug him. Or something even worse� "Well, okay. But  
next time, keep your head down when I tell you to, okay?" he gripes,  
trying to sound tough.

But Fraser knows better. "All right, Ray," he smiles.

And that smile does it. Ray's had more than he can handle already�that  
warm, sunny beam turns him inside out. "Here. Lemme just�I'll  
get a broom," he chokes out. It gives him an excuse to get up.  
To get away. He needs one. If he doesn't get away, right now, he's  
going to throw Fraser on the floor and have his way with him.

He stands up, heads blindly for the broom closet.

"Ray�"

Ben's voice is very quiet, but Ray cuts him off, sensing danger. "Here's  
the broom," he interrupts. "I'll get this. It'll just take  
a second. Then I'll make ya' some tea, okay? Go siddown, Frase."

 _Get out._ He doesn't say it, but he does. And he isn't the only  
one who can read body language. Fraser gets to his feet obediently,  
and goes back to the couch without a word. But Ray can feel something  
hanging in the air between them, a kind of tension that's never been  
there before. At least, not on Fraser's part. He groans to himself  
while he's sweeping. Wonders if he's sweeping away a broken friendship,  
along with the shards of glass.

What exactly did Fraser see in his eyes just now? _Does he know?  
And if he does, what am I gonna do about it?_

 __  
**************************************************************************************

 

Fraser eyes Stanley Ray Kowalski closely as he moves around his kitchen  
making tea. Ray hasn't said a word to him since he practically threw  
him out of his kitchen; and the significance of that, and the way Ray's  
eyes darkened when he touched him, and when he smiled at him, isn't lost  
on him either. In fact, that little touch has opened up a whole new  
world to him; or rather, opened his eyes to a whole new way of seeing.  
Just as the touch of Victoria's hand on his once long ago revealed the  
meaning of sensuality to him, Ray's touch has just showed him that desire�maybe  
even love�hasn't disappeared from his life at her departure, as  
he once thought.

 _Ray wants me._ He knows that now, beyond doubt. The hunger in  
his partner's eyes was unmistakable. That in itself was an amazing discovery�heaven  
in a grain of sand, so to speak�but he's also made another: he  
wants Ray too.

He's not sure why. He's never wanted a man before. But Stan isn't just  
any man, he's closer to him than anyone else has ever been, except Ray  
Vecchio. And Ray left him. Went away, just like Victoria. Like everyone  
else Fraser has ever loved. Except Kowalski. Stan had had the chance  
to leave him, and good reasons for it too; but he didn't leave. He stayed.  
Maybe that's why just now, when Stan's hand brushed his, he had the distinct  
urge to take it in his. To touch more of him, all of him.

 _I want him too_ , Fraser thinks. It's a frightening realization,  
but nonetheless true. He hadn't felt any desire when Frannie kissed  
him passionately, nothing but a mildly pleasant sensation of warmth�but  
Ray's innocent, accidental touch in the kitchen just now felt electric.  
Dangerous. Exciting. Erotic. He suddenly realizes how often he's touched  
Ray in the past, when it wasn't strictly necessary; and that he enjoyed  
it. _I think I've wanted him for a long time, without realizing it._

Ray comes in suddenly with his cup of tea. "Thank you kindly,"  
Fraser murmurs aloud as he reaches for it, hiding his thoughts while  
he thinks this revelation through.

"Sure, Frase," Ray mumbles back as he hands it to him. His  
eyes are hooded too.

And this time, both men are careful not to let their hands touch.

Kowalski drops down next to him on the couch, drums his fingers restlessly  
on his knee while he sips his tea. "So, whaddaya' wanna do? I  
got this video, "Great Moments from the Superbowl"�Wanna  
watch some?"

Fraser shakes his head. He hasn't had much time to process these revelations  
and come to a decision, not nearly enough really for something as important  
as this. But he is sure of one thing; well, two things actually. One  
is that this isn't a moment for football; the other is that they can't  
go on as they have been, with Stan brooding and flying into rages, and  
both of them denying or ignoring how they feel. That would be cowardly.  
And though the mere idea of discussing the issue, let alone possibly  
having sex with another man, scares him, the idea of being alone forever  
is far worse.

He is sick of being alone. Tired of coming home to an empty apartment,  
with no one but Diefenbaker for company. Victoria gave him a taste of  
what living with someone is like, what loving someone could be like,  
and he wants more. Granted, Stan isn't female, but is that sufficient  
reason to refuse him? Where will he ever find someone else who will  
understand and accept him like he has?

"No," Fraser says quietly. "I hope you don't mind, but  
I'm not really in the mood for football."

Ray shrugs. "Okay. Ya' wanna just talk, then?"

Fraser nods. "Yes. I'd like that." He came here to ask Ray  
a question, after all. And though chance already provided him the answer,  
he decides to ask it anyway. To force the issue, so to speak. He knows  
this probably isn't the most opportune moment. Stan has been drinking,  
and he shouldn't take advantage of his vulnerability. Then again, maybe  
that makes this the perfect time to ask. The man's defensive walls are  
normally so high that he'd have no hope of getting a straight answer.  
But the vodka has predictably weakened those walls, enough so that Fraser  
now has a reasonable hope of getting through them.

What is that old saying? "In vino, veritas." _In wine,  
there is truth. Indeed._

However, he suddenly remembers Ray Vecchio's version of that old saying:  
"In vino, violence." It's a salient point. Fraser isn't sure  
if Stan will admit to his feelings, to the sexual tension between them.  
In his slightly intoxicated state, he may get angry instead. Take offense,  
strike out and ask questions later. He came dangerously close to that  
the day Frannie kissed him. Fraser sighs to himself, resigned to the  
possibility of failure. After all, nothing ventured, nothing gained.  
At worst, he's in for a long walk home with a sore jaw. (He refuses  
to admit, even to himself, that he might lose his partner entirely over  
it. If he allows himself to admit that, he'll be too scared to ever  
ask his question.) But if he doesn't speak up, he has the distinct feeling  
he'll regret it all his life.

He puts down his tea and takes a deep breath, gathering his courage.  
"Ray, can I ask you something?"

Kowalski yawns a little. "Well, that depends. If it's like 'Why  
is the sky blue?' or 'Why did Mounties start wearin' red?', then I can't  
help ya'. That's not my department," he teases. Anything else,  
okay."

His partner has obviously relaxed again, after their tense moment in  
the kitchen. Fraser regrets having to upset him as he knows this will,  
but he forces himself to go on. "I think this falls under the heading  
of 'anything else'," he says carefully.

Ray nods. "Okay, shoot."

Fraser almost winces at that. "All right. Well, what would you  
say if�that is, if I asked you�"

"Asked me what?"

"Well, if�Speaking hypothetically that is�"

"About what?" Rays asks, getting a bit impatient.

"You. Me. Us. Our�relationship," Fraser chokes out,  
over a big lump in his throat.

Ray tenses instantly. His eyes hood over, and his shoulders are suddenly  
taut as a drawn bowstring. "What about us?" he asks flatly.

Kowalski may be a bit the worse for wear, but he's not so drunk that  
he can't see where this line of questioning is going. Fraser feels like  
he's walking over a mine field as his partner's blue eyes bore into him.  
There's no mistaking the danger in those wary eyes, in that tense body.  
One false step, and he'll be walking home�and probably minus a partner.

Nevertheless, he goes on. _Stay the course,_ he tells himself.  
"Well, what I'm trying to say is�" But he stops. At  
the last possible second, he chokes. Can't get the words out. Can't  
say, "Are you in love with me?" Because he's more than a little  
afraid that he's in love with Ray, too; and those words, that emotion,  
have always been a curse to him. Every time he says them, or even thinks  
he loves someone, that person either dies or leaves him. And if Ray  
loses control and hits him when he hears them, throws him out into the  
night and doesn't want anything to do with him again, he doesn't think  
he'll be able to stand it. He's been hurt too much, too many times now.  
He suddenly feels like this is his last chance, and that if he ruins  
it, he'll be lost forever.

"What the hell are you tryin' to say, Fraser?"

Fraser's heart sinks. Ray's words are terse, curt, unencouraging. Fraser's  
heart beats frantically, making it hard to think. He suddenly fears  
he's made a mistake, a terrible mistake, that he's somehow misinterpreted  
Ray's actions lately. Because if he did love him�if he cared for  
him at all�wouldn't he be trying to make this easier for him? Instead,  
he's glaring as if he wants to punch him.

He nerves himself to try one last time. Heart pounding, he wets dry  
lips, clears his throat. Prepares himself for the blow he fears is inevitable.  
"I'm trying to say�To ask you, that is, if you�want me,  
Ray," he breathes at last, in a voice hardly more than a whisper.

 

***********************************************************************************

 

Stanley Ray Kowalski stares at Fraser, blown away by what he's just heard.  
He shakes his head a little, thinking this must be a drunken hallucination.  
'Cuz he could've sworn he just heard the prim, proper Mountie ask him  
if he wants him, while his pale skin blushes the most beautiful shade  
of red he's ever seen. But shaking his head doesn't dispel the image.  
Fraser is still sitting there looking at him, wide-eyed and a little  
desperate, like he's afraid he's going to be hit or something.

_Holy shit! He really said it. He knows. Wow._

__And then another thought hits him: _He's not running away. He's  
not disgusted. Freaked out. Whatever._

Fraser wants to talk about it. And that means he's not saying no. He  
would've run in that case; Ray knows him well enough to know that. But  
he didn't run. That must mean he cares, that there's some possibility  
they can get together. The realization bursts inside him like a bomb.  
Blows away the last of his already ragged self control, his caution.  
He wanted to stop lying�now he will. Wanted to tell Fraser the  
truth. Now he can.

He moves forward on the couch, holding the Mountie's gaze. "Yeah,"  
he says, his own voice a bit unsteady as he looks into Fraser's azure  
blue eyes. The eyes of the merman� "Yeah, I want you. I want  
you bad, Frase. So I got a little question for you: what're we gonna  
do about it?"

 

**************************************************************************************

 

Fraser's heart goes into overdrive. Stan isn't angry! He hasn't hit  
him. Hasn't thrown him out into the night after all. That's an immense  
relief. In fact, contrary to his expectations, Stan has admitted that  
he wants him. Wants him badly. The problem is, that's frightening in  
an entirely different way. And now he's edging closer, with the hungriest  
look he's ever seen on his face. Asking him what they're going to do  
about it.

Fraser suddenly remembers a moment long ago in Meg Thatcher's office,  
in a somewhat similar situation, when he was trying to reply to a question  
he'd assumed (wrongly) that she'd asked him. A similar kind of question,  
involving intimate physical matters. He remembers his fear, his desire  
to take things slowly. The flowers he offered her, the suggestions he  
made of conversation, dancing and taking their relationship forward in  
cautious increments.

Ray won't let him do that. He knows that instinctively because he knows  
Ray�and the look in his eyes confirms it. That heat will not be  
sated by mere hand holding or dancing, or allow any tiny, cautious steps  
to be taken. This will be a headlong, sensual rush to unimagined ends---with  
no going back. If he doesn't leave, and leave now, he may well be devoured.

He knows that. Yet he doesn't move. Doesn't get up, doesn't even try  
to get away as Ray edges even closer. So close that their thighs are  
suddenly touching. So close that his burning blue eyes are all he can  
see.

"Well, Benny? What're we gonna do?" Ray whispers again. The  
corners of his mouth turn up in a slight, very slightly wicked smile.

And Fraser thinks, God help him, that those are the most erotic words  
he has ever heard. That perhaps he wants to be devoured after all.  
He swallows hard. Wets dry lips with his tongue again, watches Ray track  
the tiny movement, sees it whet his already obvious hunger even more.  
He suddenly wonders if his own eyes have begun to burn, as Ray's are  
doing. Perhaps they have, because the next words out of his mouth shock  
him. "I think�I think I'd like to kiss you," he gasps  
at last.

Ray's wicked smile grows wider. He leans even closer, angling his head  
towards Fraser's in the breathless hush. "Ya' think?" he breathes.

Fraser feels faint. He knows Ray's going to kiss him first. Waits breathlessly  
for him to.

But Ray doesn't. Instead, he waits. Blue eyes burning, lips tantalizingly  
close to Ben's, he freezes. Stares at his mouth hungrily, his lips slightly  
parted, and waits.

Fraser realizes that Kowalski may be drunk, but he's not stupid. He  
realizes the importance of what they're about to do, the profound changes  
it will make in both their lives. So he's not going to seduce him, or  
give him any grounds for later resentment. He waits for Ben to move.  
To commit himself. To answer his desire. To kiss him, as he just said  
he wanted to do. He wants Fraser to ante up, put his money where his  
mouth is. Or is it the other way around, in this situation?

 _Or maybe,_ he thinks, _he's just trying to seduce me. To drive  
me mad, as he has no doubt been driven mad for some time now, by our  
sheer proximity._ Now that he knows the truth, Fraser feels more  
than a little sorry about that. He never meant to cause Ray any pain.

And as far as seduction techniques go, this is a powerful one. The feel  
of Ray's warm breath on his face, the sight of his chest rising and falling  
rapidly as those burning blue eyes rake his mouth, the sensation of coiled,  
rising excitement in the slender body so close to his, is incredibly  
arousing.

So Fraser takes a deep breath. Closes his eyes, leans forward a little  
and does it. Puts his cards on the table. Takes the plunge. Commits  
himself. Presses his lips to the waiting mouth so close to his. It's  
a surprisingly pleasant sensation. Ray's lips are warm and soft, and  
Fraser prolongs the contact, moving his mouth against his partner's gently.

Ray moans softly, deep in his throat, at the gentle caress. Takes his  
shoulders in his hands and holds him tightly as he comes back for more.  
He angles his head to deepen their kiss, but Ben pulls back a little.  
He remembers that Ray has been drinking, that he probably shouldn't be  
doing this. Or at least, no more than this. So he makes one last effort  
at caution, for Ray's sake. He stops kissing him, pulls away again.  
"Ray, I don't think I should�"

"Don't think, Frase," Ray orders hoarsely. "Please.  
Don't talk. Just feel�" He bends his head again, covers Ben's  
mouth with his, trying to pry it open. And Ben does feel: the hardness  
of his mouth, the roughness of his beard stubble against his face, a  
wonderful, erotic friction that he loves. The insistent probing of his  
impatient tongue. The wild beating of Ray's impulsive heart against  
his chest. Ben trembles a bit, and Ray seizes the moment. Bites Fraser's  
lower lip lightly, until he gasps in surprise. "Open up,"  
he whispers. Tantalizing. Sexy. Impossible to resist. Fraser obeys  
with a slight shiver, and Ray thrusts his tongue into his mouth.

Then all hell breaks loose. The next thing Fraser knows, he's down on  
his back on the couch as Ray plunders his mouth like a pirate. They're  
both breathing heavily, hearts pounding wildly as they kiss deeply.  
Hot, wet, tongue-thrusting kisses that go on and on. Ben's head is spinning.  
Ray tastes like cinnamon, vodka and something he can't even name. He  
tastes fiery and spicy and delicious. And he feels unique, too. Fraser  
is used to holding women, used to a soft kind of yielding. But Ray isn't  
soft, he's hard, muscular, heavy; and he isn't yielding. Far from it.  
He's strong, amazingly so, and he's pushing against him, pushing his  
kisses deeper into his mouth, grinding their hips together, their erections�

Fraser groans helplessly. He's lost. Overwhelmed by new and extremely  
erotic sensations, he's quit trying to slow Ray down. He's just trying  
to hang on now, holding on for dear life while Kowalski drives him out  
of his mind.

 

**************************************************************************************

 

Ray can't believe it. He's got the Mountie. At last, at long last,  
Benton Fraser is in his arms. Not the merman, not the dream lover, but  
the real man. Mr. Polite, Mr. Straight. Fraser, the God of Ice and  
Snow. He was a bit shy at first, but he's been working on him. He's  
got his sweet mouth pried open now and he's kissing the hell out of him,  
going as deep as he can with his tongue. Eating him up alive. And Ben  
is kissing him back, so hotly he can hardly breathe. Using his tongue  
with remarkable skill. And thank you kindly Benny, because it's good,  
so good he can hardly stand it. And he isn't the only one who's getting  
off on it. He can feel Ben's heart pounding against him, can hear him  
moaning, feel him shiver. He knows he's liking it, and it's great, better  
than any dream he's ever had�

Because Fraser the Snow God isn't cold. He's hot, so hot Ray feels like  
he's on fire. And he tastes salty sweet, just like the merman.

Ray starts touching him, rubbing his flat abdomen through his shirt.  
Fraser moans and twists a little under him, and he grins into their kiss.  
Good. Ben likes that too. Encouraged, he pulls his shirt up out of  
his pants. He breaks their kiss just long enough to rise up and yank  
off his own tank top. He throws it on the floor, then jerk Ben's shirt  
up even higher, baring his nipples and most of that gorgeous chest.  
 _Oh God, what a chest!_ Smooth, hairless, muscular�like one  
of those marble statues you see in museums, only better, because its  
warm and alive; and (even better) heaving with passion.

"Oh, God, Ray�"

Kowalski doesn't know if that's an _Oh God, Ray, stop_ or _Oh  
God, Ray, that feels good_�and he doesn't wait to find out.  
He knows if he gives Fraser time to think about this, he'll probably  
get scared. Talk himself out of the pleasure he's feeling, and the even  
greater pleasure Ray wants to give him. He's not going to let that happen.  
He's waited far too long for this. They both have. So he lowers his  
head again, puts his tongue on one of those flat brown nipples, and starts  
licking it like an ice cream cone. Rubbing the other one too. He doesn't  
want to neglect one spare inch of his precious Mountie. He likes to  
hear him moan, would love to make him scream.

"Ohhh!" Fraser bucks underneath him, gasping. Hands clawing  
at his back. Not screaming yet, but he's getting there. Ray is making  
noise too, loud gasps and groans of his own because it's been too long,  
and Ben just feels so damn good. Ray's cock has been hard since their  
first kiss, and it's straining so hard against his jeans now that it  
feels like it may go off any second. He holds on desperately though,  
because he's not going to let it end that fast. No way. He wants to  
make Fraser go over the edge first.

He forces his mind away from his own pleasure, focuses it ruthlessly  
on the beautiful body underneath him. He sucks at the hardening nipples,  
one after the other. Raises his head long enough to see Ben, face flushed,  
eyes closed, biting his lower lip as his back arches like a bow. Ben's  
hands are on him, one on his shoulder, the other digging into his bicep.  
"God, Ray!" he moans.

 _Beautiful,_ Kowalski thinks. _He's so beautiful�_ Pale  
skin, that's flushed deliciously under his licks and kisses. Thick dark  
hair, slightly touseled now that he's run his hands through it. Brown  
nipples that have hardened under his mouth and hands. Everything about  
Ben is beautiful. He's as gorgeous, in his own way, as Stella once was  
to him. Lying there half out of his shirt, with his cock straining against  
his jeans, he's as exotic as the merman in his dreams.

Ray undoes the buttons on his shirt and takes it off him gently, making  
sure it doesn't catch on the bandage on his arm. He hasn't forgotten  
about Ben's injury, not for one second. He's kept his hands off that  
arm, to make sure that he doesn't hurt him. But once Ben's shirt hits  
the floor beside his own, he yanks at his zipper impatiently. There's  
no need to be careful with that, and he's too aroused to slow down.  
But he pulls too hard, and the zipper gets stuck.

"Shit!" Ray bites his lip, tugging at the tangled metal and  
cotton, almost snarling with frustration. Fraser just brushes his clumsy  
hands away gently. Takes the zipper and, with his usual efficiency,  
gets it unstuck within seconds, and pulled all the way down. Ray blinks  
at him in surprise, suddenly not so sure who is seducing who here.

Fraser just smiles a little, then pulls his head down. "I want  
you too, Ray," he breathes against his mouth. Then he kisses him.  
Firmly. Commandingly.

Ray doesn't need to be asked twice. While Ben kisses him, he grabs his  
jeans and pulls them down, baring his hips. Then he pulls away from  
their hot kiss, not without a slight groan of his own, and slides his  
tongue slowly all the way down Fraser's body, from his neck to his erection.  
Caressing him with both hands, all over, as he goes.

By the time he reaches his destination, Fraser is panting, all but sobbing.  
"Please, Ray, please�" Ray just smiles, because the best  
is yet to come�

Ray touches him, thinking how beautiful he is here, too. Pale flesh,  
darkened by the rush of his heated blood to a dark, sexy pink, strains  
against his flat stomach. He's large, but not overly so�perfect.  
He strokes him gently.

Fraser shudders all over at that. Nearly comes up off the couch. "Ray!"

Ray pushes him back down, holds him down with an arm across his chest  
as he takes a long, leisurely lick of his cock. Ben writhes, moaning  
helplessly. Ray knows that no man has ever touched him here before,  
that Frannie has never heard him cry out like that, never done this to  
him�and he's savagely glad of it. He lowers his head and takes  
the end of it in his mouth. Sucks at it a little. Fraser cries out.  
Ray knows he's on the edge. He is too. He's so close he can feel his  
own cock weeping. Throbbing powerfully. He's not sure how much longer  
he can hold out. So he takes him in deeper, sucks a bit harder.

Ben yells. Bucks. Explodes in his mouth.

Ray cries out too.

They both come at the same instant. Sweating, shaking, holding on to  
each other tightly. Perfect. Beautiful.

Ray doesn't let Ben go, even then. He tastes him, wanting all of him,  
everything Fraser has to give.

When it's over, he feels like he's run a mile. Been dropped out of a  
plane or something. He has to almost crawl back up Fraser's prone body,  
his breathing still unsteady. But he grins while he does it, because  
he's tired in a good way. He feels like the sun is shining. Like the  
Cubs have won the Series. All is right with the world. With his world,  
anyway. Because this time, when he wakes up, the merman will be here  
with him. In his arms.

Stanley Raymond Kowalski is one happy man.

So naturally, he teases Fraser. "Ya' know, I'll have to arrest  
you now. For takin' advantage of a fellow officer who was under the  
influence and all."

Ben, who still has his eyes closed, smiles. "I didn't know there  
was a law against that, Ray," he says hoarsely as Kowalski makes  
it up to his chest, settles down over him again. Then Fraser's eyes  
open, and Ray's heart almost breaks. Because Ben's eyes are very blue,  
and he smiles at him a little, like they're sharing some secret joke  
that the rest of the world isn't in on. The merman smile.

Ray shakes his head, so moved he can't begin to put his feelings into  
words. But he tries. "There oughtta' be," he says, reaching  
down to smooth that silky dark hair. "There oughtta' be a law against  
anyone bein' as beautiful as you."

Ben blinks at him as if he doesn't know what to say either. Then he  
pulls his head down and kisses him gently, tenderly. "If there  
was a law against beauty," he says softly, "I'd have to arrest  
you, too."

When the kiss is over, Ray puts his head down on Ben's shoulder. It  
looks like a gesture of affection, and it is. Besides, it feels good  
lying on the Mountie. He's big, hard and beautifully muscled, better  
than any body pillow Ray could imagine. But that's not all of it. The  
truth is, it's a way to stay in his arms, but hide his face for a minute.  
So he can take in the fact that he's just made love with Benton Fraser.  
Benny the Beautiful, wanted by every woman in Chicago, including the  
real Ray's own sister. That he made him scream.

 _And his head didn't explode after all_ , he thinks, grinning to  
himself.

Then the smile disappears as he remembers that Fraser just told him he  
thinks he's beautiful.

Not that Ray believes that, not for a second�he's been looking in  
the mirror at his angular, average face for too many years to accept  
that idea. But Ben just said so, which means he believes it; and Ben  
never lies. And it's the thought that counts, isn't that what they always  
say? And what a thought�

 _I love you,_ Ray thinks, slipping his arms around him. _I love  
you so damn much�_

But he can't say it. Even here, even now. He used to be able to say  
that out loud, but that was before Stella walked out on him. Before  
pain taught him not to trust. So he takes a breath, and says, "Yer  
crazy, Benny, ya' know that?"

 

**************************************************************************************

 

Fraser holds Ray Kowalski, stroking the blonde head that lays on his  
shoulder gently. He can hardly believe what Ray just did to him, what  
they did to each other�Ray made him moan, made him quiver, made  
him scream. And Ray yelled out too, at the end. A loud, harsh cry,  
like the roar of a jungle animal. The mere memory of that sound makes  
Fraser shiver all over again.

Best of all, Ray didn't leave him afterwards. Victoria always did, she  
always pulled away from him as soon as the sex was done. But Ray didn't.  
He held on. Smiled at him, teased him, cuddled with him. He's holding  
him still, as if he never wants to let go. And the way he said 'Benny'  
just now�.Ray never calls him that, never�

Fraser knows what that means. Knows Kowalski well enough now to listen  
for what he's not saying, for what lies behind his gruff sarcasm. And  
he's only heard that note in Ray's voice once before, when he told him  
that he still loved his ex-wife, Stella. So while someone else might  
think 'Yer crazy, Benny' is an insult, Fraser knows better. He's touched,  
and glad he finally had the courage to ask his question tonight. Very  
glad. He brings Ray's hand to his mouth, opens it and kisses his palm  
tenderly. "So I've been told," he answers, feeling absurdly  
happy.

Ray sighs just as happily, burrows his head even deeper into his shoulder.  
"That's okay. I kinda' like crazy," he whispers. "Get  
kinda' crazy myself sometimes."

Fraser isn't sure that either of them have much of a claim on sanity,  
considering what they just did. But he doesn't regret it, either. He  
lays Ray's hand back down on his chest again. Feels him yawn against  
his shoulder. A deep, satisfied, weary yawn. He smiles. "Go to  
sleep, Ray," he says softly.

Fraser reaches up to switch off the nearby lamp. Ray's arms tighten  
around him instantly, as if he's afraid he's going to leave. That little  
revelatory twitch speaks volumes to Fraser. He's used to thinking of  
himself as the one with a terrible fear of abandonment. It's sobering  
to realize that Ray bears similar scars.

"It's all right, Ray," he says gently. "Go to sleep.  
I'll stay with you."

Ray doesn't answer, he just nods against his chest. Shortly afterwards,  
his breathing gets slow and deep. Done in by the vodka, the lateness  
of the hour, and their combined exertions just now, he's fallen asleep.  
Fraser suddenly realizes that he's tired too, for some of the same reasons.  
He closes his eyes, but doesn't let himself drift off just yet. He wants  
to savor the moment. He holds onto his partner, luxuriating in the warm,  
solid weight of him. He strokes his blonde hair gently, until Ray sighs  
in his sleep.

He suddenly wonders what Ray Vecchio would think, if he could see him  
now. The thought makes him wince. _Ray wouldn't understand_ , he  
thinks. He's not really sure he does either. He doesn't know what it  
is about him that's made Ray Kowalski fall in love with him, when he  
irritates him so much sometimes. _Maybe we're both crazy_ , he reflects  
ruefully. _Like he said�_ After all, Ray's been scarred, and  
so has he; and one bout of lovemaking, no matter how passionate, isn't  
going to erase those scars. Or their differences.

Maybe he'll regret this in the morning, in the cold grey light of day.  
Maybe Ray will, too.

But Ben doubts it. He finds no sadness in his own heart for what's just  
passed between them. On the contrary, he feels stronger somehow. As  
if Ray has started to mend something inside him that he didn't even know  
was broken. Healed some of the scars left there by other, more careless  
hands. Something tells him that maybe they're together because of those  
scars. Maybe that's why they need each other.

Fraser holds onto his partner in the darkness. _My partner_ �That  
word now has a whole new meaning for him. He kisses Ray's hand again.  
Softly, so as not to wake him. Savors the warmth of his body, the taste  
of his skin. The knowledge that Ray loves him, and that for once, he  
isn't falling asleep alone.

His last thought, before sleep takes him, makes him smile.

_It isn't so bad, being crazy together._

The End

 

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